Mistakes?
by procol harum
Summary: Follows the ending of Fun With Animals... Tom gets drunk and mistakes are made. Booker is involved although things aren't as bad as they seem... crack summary, meh... involves slash B/T slight ref to rape, although it isn't really there... I own nothing.
1. Mistakes

First part of this is kind of a transcript of the ending of Fun With Animals, then goes into the story in regular writing format...

**There is slash, and slight, minor referenes to rape**... might be more undestandable once the story nears the end :D

_I own nothing_

* * *

**Booker:** You like being a cop?

**Tom:** I used to.

**Booker:** Before I stepped in your life - _(a slight laugh, a possible smile)_

_Brief pause_

**Tom:** Mmhm...

**Booker:** You hear Internal Affairs let me out to Jump Street?

**Tom:** I heard - _(sounds slightly annoyed)_

**Booker:** I guess it's 'cause I got a young face.

**Tom:** Yeah. _(slightly sarcastic)_

**Booker:** I know Fuller said he's gonna try not to partner us up again but uh, I think we did a great job and I'm gonna ask him to put us on another case together.

_Pause, music playing_

**Tom:** I wouldn't.

_(Laughing)_ **Booker:** Just kidding Hamburger. (_pause) _You know it's no bed of roses working with you? _(thanks to Hanson's Hot for helpin' me figure out what Booker say here XD)_

**Tom:** Thanks.

_Pause; a small, barely audible sniff - a possible sigh_

**Tom:** Why'd you bring me here?

**Booker:** I like givin' you a jolt; another drink?

**Tom:** Who's driving?

**Booker:** We'll take a cab.

_Pause; more music - they watch strippers dance _

**Tom:** I got a question for you, _Booker._

**Booker:** Fire away, chief.

**Tom:** Do you act like a creep 'cause you really are a creep or it's just fun to act like one?

**Booker:** Let me answer that with a great joke I know; a Polac, a Jew, and a Puerto Rican are on a cruise ship. The ship hits an iceberg and it's goin' down and there's only one space left on the lifeboat...

\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/-\-/

When Tom awoke his head hurt – really, really bad. Okay, so he had obviously had _a lot_ to drink the previous night; now if only he could remember anything that had happened after getting drunk. He racked hi brain but all that was there were fuzzy memories of yesterday's case; Booker, him accusing Booker of rape... He had been with Booker.

Oh god, _he had been with __**Booker.**_

Tom groaned and decided to take his chances; he opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the unwanted remnants of sleep, and looked around. And Jesus Christ he nearly had a heart attack. He knew where he was; he had been here a few days ago, and that time he had not been invited. Tom guessed differently about this situation, considering he had just woken up in Dennis Booker's bed.

Oh crap, he was screwed. He was sure of it.

"Yo Tommy!" a voice called, "You up!"

Tom moaned at the familiar voice; Booker was here and he was clearly aware of Tom's presence in his apartment. In his bedroom; in his _bed._ Yup, Tom was definitely screwed. "Yeah," he called back, sitting up and-

"Oh god no," Tom mumbled silently once he realized he was naked; he was in Dennis Booker's bed, with a hangover, and he was only wearing boxers. He was practically naked. He was more than screwed. Tom groaned at the plausible double meaning and stood slowly, bringing the bed sheet with him. He didn't care if he _had _done anything with Booker, the other man was not going to see him naked. Well, nearly naked. It didn't matter, though; Booker was not going to see one part of Tom that he shouldn't see. So Tom wrapped the thin sheet around his waist, and shivering at a sudden coldness, he headed out of the bedroom.

"Hey," came Booker's too cheery greeting as soon as Tom entered the living room. He was sitting on the couch, eating cereal, and watching-

_No _Tom thought. No way what he saw was actually true. Dennis Booker was watching Scooby-Doo? That just seemed so, so... Wrong.

"Scooby-Doo?" Tom questioned, annoyed at Dennis' casual attitude.

"Yes. You gotta problem with that?"

"No it's just - _You're_ watchin' Scooby-Doo."

"So?" Dennis questioned. "I like Scooby-Doo. Besides, Daphne's kinda hot." A smirk formed on Booker's lips as he stared at Tom, observing the smooth chest, "Although you're a pretty damn good replacement."

Tom glared hard at Booker. "Fuck you," he hissed. "Where are my clothes?"

"What? I didn't make you do anythin'!" Booker called out as Tom made his way back towards the bedroom.

"Hanson!" he called, standing and quickly following the younger man. "C'mon man, I'm sorry. But it was as much your idea as it was mine."

Tom stood in the middle of the room, looking around for any article of clothing he could. He did not like the way Dennis had been looking at him earlier.

"Damn it Hanson, just listen to me!" Booker yelled, irritated.

Tom turned heatedly, glaring angrily at the other man. "Yeah I heard you," he hissed. "I heard you say that while I was _drunk_ I decided to have sex with you!"

Dennis stepped back, contemplating Tom's words. "I..."

"You nothing!" Hanson yelled. "Damn it, I was drunk, you basically took advantage of that!"

"No way man, I didn't..." Dennis stopped; he didn't want to use the term rape. Tom had agreed and had been willing hadn't he? _He had also been drunk. Very drunk_.

Booker pushed the thoughts out of his mind angrily. "Damn it Hanson, you were as willing as I was!"

"Who started it?" Tom asked angrily, stepping closer to Dennis. "Who made the first move, who decided we should come back here?" Tom's head pounded worse at each angered outburst but he ignored it; he wanted to know the truth. No, he **needed** to know the truth. But then, he couldn't remember because he had been drunk. That meant Booker shouldn't remember; unless he hadn't been as drunk, which meant he had had a better advantage against Tom.

Booker stood stock-still, frozen. Tom didn't remember, yet he did; that meant Tom had been more drunk than he had and this just wasn't looking good on Dennis' part.

"I did," Booker admitted. "I mighta kissed you."

"You might have?" Tom asked in a high-pitched tone, laughing. "Yeah, that's real good _Book_; you might have kissed me."

"Alright, I did, after the joke. You were just starin' at me, okay? I mean, you had had like, five beers, and I knew shouldn't have, but," Dennis stopped, staring into the curious gaze of Tom's brown eyes. "I just did it; I leaned close and kissed you."

Tom laughed, "Yeah? Did I kiss back?"

"Not at first; you tried pushin' me away and," Dennis stopped, unsure of why he was telling Tom all of this; because all of what he was saying made it look like he **had** taken advantage of the other man. But he hadn't, had he? "I just grabbed your arms and pushed you into the bar," Dennis concluded with a sigh.

"You-you forced me...?" Tom asked, now fully aware that he was alone with Dennis. He was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry Tommy, I never meant to. I just, I didn't wanna stop. And when I pulled away, you looked scared. But I guess, I guess I didn't really care, okay?"

"But it's not," Tom whispered. "Damn it, did I actually say I wanted to have sex with you?"

Booker looked down, refusing to answer.

"Oh god," Tom moaned. This wasn't happening; no way could this be happening.

"I'm sorry," Dennis admitted, unsure of why; why did he care? So what if he had sex with Tom. Except now that he thought about, maybe he had taken advantage of the other man. And that was bad, really, really bad.

"Sorry?" Tom repeated. "You-you-"

"I what? Raped you?" Dennis finished, "Yeah okay, maybe," he admitted, "But I thought you wanted it." _Great save there, that will really make all of this seem okay._

"What made you think that?" Tom asked, scared and angered at the same time. "When I tried pushing you away?" His tone was again filled with anger, laced together with cruel hatred. Because right now he hated Dennis Booker.

"That-that was just the kiss," Booker replied, moving over and sitting down on the bed. "Damn it Tom, after that, we just sat there. Then you ordered another beer, and I tried to tell you no. And I don't know, you got mad at that," Dennis stated, staring up at Tom; staring up at the smooth chest, the sheet that hung low, so low that Booker could see-

"Stop it," Tom hissed. "Where the Hell are my clothes?"

Dennis directed his gaze into Tom's own, and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Damn it," Tom hissed; he felt very exposed, and was starting to grow uneasy at the way Dennis would look at him.

"Check the dresser, you can take somethin' of mine," Dennis offered wearily.

Tom nodded, and headed to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer; white t-shirts. Big choice there. Tom pulled one out and quickly pulled it over his head, glad to finally have something to cover up with.

"I got jeans in the third drawer-boxers in the last, if you need 'em."

Tom sighed; he didn't really want to wear any of Dennis' clothes, but it was that or stand around while the other man stared at him lustfully. He really didn't want the latter, so the former seemed the best choice. He pulled open the third drawer now, and found three pairs of blue jeans, all worn, faded, and torn somewhere. He felt like he was preparing himself to be Tommy McQuaid. Lastly, he pulled out a pair of black boxers, then he headed towards the door.

"It's okay, Ill leave," Dennis spoke up, standing and stretching; the bed squeaked at the sudden lift of weight, and Dennis laughed. "Bed's getting' kinda old-I'm surprised it's lasted this long." And with a smirk in Tom's direction, he was gone. The bedroom shut behind him and Tom sighed. All he wanted was to get dressed and leave, but Dennis still hadn't told him everything. And he planned on staying until he had been told the entire truth.

TBC...


	2. Is This the Truth?

**Ugh, major swearing in this, uhm Tom threatens to kill Dennis, vague description of what happened, so rating goes up, I guess? I'm not too sure, but figured I'd warn you for my sake ...**

Tom walked out of the bedroom but couldn't see Booker anywhere. "Damn it," he hissed. He really needed to know what had happened. Tom walked through the living room and entered the kitchen, but Dennis wasn't there either - he wasn't anywhere in the apartment.

"Damn it," Tom repeated. He knew they didn't have to go to work today; it was Saturday. And the clock read 9.42, anyways. So where the Hell was-

Tom jumped at the sudden slamming of wood against wood, then turned to face in the direction of where the sudden noise had come from.

-Booker.

"What the Hell?!" Tom yelled, angered at the other man. He had left and Tom had thought he was not going to come back. Except he had.

Booker looked at Tom, confusion etched into his features. "What? I went to get the mail while you were gettin' changed."

"Good," Tom hissed. "Cause if you had left, I woulda killed you. Now tell me what the Hell happened last night."

"Look, Tommy," Dennis started, shutting the door and heading into the kitchen; Tom followed, intent on finding out what had happened. "Don't call me that," he hissed as Dennis opened the fridge.

"Whatever," Booker replied, leaning over and reaching inside; he came back with a beer in his hand.

"It's only ten in the morning," Tom stated. "Why the Hell are you gettin' a beer?"

"Because," Dennis stated. "Now; last night you got mad. And I don't know, I followed you. Maybe I shoulda just left you alone but..." Dennis trailed off, opening the beer and taking a long gulp.

"But what?" Tom urged. "Damn it Dennis, did you fuckin' rape me?"

Booker spit out the beer in his mouth, choking. "W-what? No!"

"Yeah? So I consented? I said you could fuck me?" Tom replied, his tone bitter.

"I-" Dennis stopped; Tom had never actually said anything like that, had he? "No, you didn't," he admitted sheepishly, taking another drink and leaving the room.

"So what!?" Tom yelled, following.

"I don't know!" Dennis yelled back, turning and facing Tom. They were inches apart and Tom could smell the beer and stale stench of cigarette smoke as Booker exhaled deeply, sighing.

"You don't know?"

"No, I mean yes. Damn it Tom, maybe. Maybe I did rape you. But I didn't mean to, and god..." Dennis didn't know what to say; everything he had said was the truth. Except he didn't know why he was telling Tom any of it.

Tom looked away, hurt. Booker had raped him? No no no, that couldn't be... Tom wasn't gay.

"I'm sorry," Booker sighed. "I really am. You were, you were drunk man, and you didn't put up much of a fight; I don't know, I was drunk too. I just, I thought you wanted to."

"Put up much of a fight?" Tom echoed. "So I tried to fight, to get you away, and you thought that that meant that I wanted you to do it? What the fuck is wrong with you!"

Dennis backed away, aware of what he had done. But he hadn't meant it. Had he?

"Fuck, I don't know. Look, last night, when you stormed off – I followed. You were in the washroom and you were crying. Jesus man, I couldn't believe it," Dennis laughed, staring into Tom's eyes. "I just, I called your name, and you looked at me. Then you told me to fuck off. Maybe I shoulda, but I didn't. Instead I grabbed you and pushed you into the wall..." Dennis trailed off; he was admitting that he had raped Tom, yet he had no idea why? Why would anybody do that? "I-I pushed you, and you cried out, but I didn't care. I don't know man, I wanted you. I needed you. And when you told me to stop, I just, I couldn't. I couldn't and I'm so sorry. I just, I started kissin' you, and you tried pushin' me away. 'Course you couldn't, and then. Then this guy came in and he saw what was happening. He pulled me away and you ran off," Dennis continued, rubbing at his eyes.

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick," Tom moaned, doubling over. He dry heaved but nothing solid came.

"Why didn't you just leave me alone after that?" Tom asked, straightening up and staring at Dennis. "Why'd you come after me?"

"I don't know, I just... I wanted you bad, Tom, real bad. So I pushed that jerk away and followed you. You were outside, stumbling down the sidewalk. I-I ran up and grabbed you around the waist. I shoulda just let you go then, called a cab and told him to take you home. But I didn't, and that was the worst thing I ever coulda done, man."

"So what? Didn't anybody see, try to help?" Tears had formed in Tom's eyes as the truth was told; Dennis Booker **had** raped him. He had attacked him in public and nobody had tried to do anything to stop it.

"Fuck," Dennis hissed, stepping backwards until the back of his legs hit solid furniture. He sunk into the comforts of his couch and hung his head between his legs. He had raped Tom Hanson.

"Damn it Booker," Tom hissed.

"I'm sorry," Dennis said again.

"Yeah?" Tom hissed. "You-you fuckin' raped me, man. Sorry doesn't cut it."

"I know," Dennis mumbled. But did he really? He had done illegal shit before, but he had never raped anybody. Now, now he didn't know what to do.

"So what? You brought me back and what?"

"No," Dennis said. "I got us into a cab, and when we got here, I swear I was just gonna let you sleep on the couch. But I couldn't – I needed you. So I tried kissin' you again, and you didn't fight back that time. And you didn't try pushin' me away when I pulled your shit off. Damn it om, I swear you had wanted it. But you're right, you were drunk..."

"I-I didn't try fighting you off? I just-I just let you do it?"

"Yeah. I swear Tommy, that's how it happened. I woulda never done it if you had shouted at me not to. But you just, you didn't say anything, man. And I guess that shoulda cut it as a no, but I just, I wasn't thinkin' right. Fuck man, I really am sorry."

"I-I didn't stop you," Tom mumbled, sinking to the floor. Now, now solid contents came when he leaned over. It burned his throat like acid but he was glad for the pain; the pain of that was better than the pain of knowing the truth. The confusing truth that made him forget about his headache, about Booker, about anything. Because he had let Booker do it, and hadn't tried to stop him. He hadn't been raped, not if he had allowed it. But had he wanted it? Tom didn't know and was afraid he never would.

TBC...


	3. Unaware

Booker sat on the couch, staring vacantly at the carpet; he knew he was going to be screwed once Hanson remembered anything, but it's not like he could have told the _actual truth._ Sure, what he had said had been close, but it still wasn't everything. And Dennis knew soon enough, once the haze of Hanson's hangover faded, he knew the older man would remember all that had actually happened; he would know Dennis had lied, but worse off, he would probably know the full truth. And Dennis would be screwed when that happened. 

"Booker," a soft voice broke through his thoughts and he jumped slightly; he had forgotten Tom was sitting only a few feet away. "Yeah?" he asked wearily, averting his gaze from the carpet towards the other man. Tom was staring at him, pain clouding the dark brown; and Booker just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from them.

"You got any aspirin?" Tom's voice also seemed to be filled with pain; a scratchy, raw, tone that came out slow and barely audible.

"Uh yeah, yeah I got some," Booker responded, still staring into those eyes; they were not as glossy as they had been earlier and that was a signal to Booker that Tom was starting to come out of his drunken stupor. "I'll go get you some." He stood and walked away, bare feet padding across the stained carpet.

"Can you- can you get me some water too?" Tom's voice trailed after him and he sighed; why not? After what he had done, he owed Tom a hell of a lot more than just a couple of aspirins and a glass of water. "Yeah, give me a sec," Booker replied, entering the small kitchen. He shivered as his feet now touched cold tile instead of the warm embrace of the carpet, and headed towards his medicine cabinet. He knew most people had these in their washrooms, but he hadn't had the space, and besides, he had nothing better to do with the kitchen cupboards. He pulled open the doors almost too quickly, grimacing as wood smashed against wood, creating a dull _thwack_ that resounded throughout the tiny space. His nerves were skyrocketing, and if he didn't calm down, then he would probably be off to the mental ward. Sighing, he reached in and pulled out the requested medicine, twisting off the child-proofed cap easily; of course, he wasn't a child. He shook out two pills and replaced the container, leaving the cupboard doors open as he turned to find a cup. There were none anywhere and Booker sighed. He only had two cups, because he mostly drank beer and never had any 'real' company. And he had no idea where those two cups were. Great.

"Hey Tommy," he called as he reentered the living room, "I got no cups man, sorry."

"Oh," Tom mumbled, confusion replacing the pain in his eyes. "You have no cups?"

"I only got two, and I don't know where they are. And there's nothin' else to drink besides beer."

"Oh," Tom mumbled. "While, I can just go home then."

"Your car's still at the bar..."

"Oh."

Dennis moved closer so he was standing just above the other man. "C'mon, it's only a few blocks away, we can walk," Dennis said, holding out his hand. Tom grasped it and groaned as Dennis pulled him up; a sharp pain coursed through his head at the sudden movement and he moaned slightly. He just wanted to go home and sleep.

"I need to get my bike," Booker stated as he waited for Tom to move towards the door.

"Oh yeah," Tom replied. He headed towards the door, and cursed as he stumbled and tripped. Dennis caught him before he hit the floor, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him to his feet. Tom tensed in the hold as Booker tightened the grip, not letting go even after he had Tom flat and steady on his feet.

"You can let go now," Tom whispered.

Although he was certain he hated Booker, the sudden touch had sent a jolt through him. It wasn't a feeling of unease; it was a feeling of want and need. Except Tom didn't _want_ **Booker **did he? He didn't _want _the Dennis Booker who had just moments ago practically admitted to raping him? It wasn't right and neither was the feeling of Booker touching him like _that._

"Yeah," Booker murmured, his breath hot against the back of Tom's neck; he loosened the grip but found he couldn't let go. He didn't want to let go; he wanted Tom. Although he had already gotten what he had wanted hadn't he?

Another wave of unwanted feelings coursed throughout Tom's body and he shivered; Dennis refused to let go yet he didn't mind; he found he wanted the touch at the same time he was appalled by it.

Tom Hanson wanted Dennis Booker.

Yet he was disgusted by him at the same time.

_He raped you; he used you. You have a right to be disgusted. _

The words flashed through Tom's mind; they pierced through the pain of his headache and seemed to flash angrily. Disgust coursed throughout his body as he came back to the here and now. He had no feelings for Dennis Booker besides hate and disgust. There was nothing else, because Tom Hanson could never feel anything towards a rapist except for those feelings.

At least that's what he thought.

"I said to let go," Tom hissed, trying to pull free. But Dennis wouldn't let go; he tightened the grip once again and Tom froze in fear. Why wasn't Booker letting go? The grip seemed to jog something in his memory, yet it was fogged by pain and a drunken haziness. But the memory was related to this unwanted touch somehow...

"L-let go," Tom repeated, trying to sound forceful; instead his voice was low and full of pain and vulnerability. He was scared of Dennis Booker, yet the reason as to why was hidden somewhere in his mind.

Dennis breathed out, his hot breath once again causing Tom to shiver. But he didn't want him; this shiver was fear, not want.

"Dennis," Tom whispered fearfully, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Wha...?" Dennis replied suddenly, confused; he let his arms fall to his sides, releasing the smaller man, wondering why he was even in this position in the first place.

Tom didn't answer, because he had no idea what to say; what _could _he say? Instead he stood there, still frozen in fear, afraid of the man standing mere inches behind him. He had to get out of here, away from Booker. But his legs refused to work and he was stuck there, frozen, unable to move.

"Tommy?" Dennis' voice broke through the silence, "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," Tom mumbled. "Head just hurts."

"Oh."

Tom sighed deeply, then tried again; his legs were working now, and he smiled. Now he could get the Hell out of here; now he could get the Hell away from-

"We gonna go?" Booker asked suddenly, without any emotion in his voice.

Tom jumped, startled by the sudden voice. He wasn't getting away from Booker, because the other man had to come with him. Even if his bike wasn't at the bar, because Tom had no idea where said bar was.

"Yeah," he replied, reaching for the door knob and grasping the cool metal tightly; he twisted it sharply to the left and pulled the door inwards, towards him. He was still stuck with Dennis Booker, no matter how much he wanted to just get away.

_Great, just great _Tom thought. _I'm stuck with a guy I hate and who has probably raped me. Great, just fucking __**great.**_

The two officers headed into the dimly lit hallway, Tom going for the stairs as Dennis shut and locked the door; hopefully this wouldn't take long, because Tom just wanted to go home and sleep.

TBC...


	4. You Don't

Tom hurried down the sidewalk, at a faster pace than Booker, who was growing more and more annoyed as he struggled to keep up with the older man. 

"Damn it Hanson, would you slow down!" Booker yelled angrily, breathing heavily as he tried to scream and fasten his pace at the same time. "You don't even know where you're going!"

"Why don't you hurry up?" Tom snapped, coming to an abrupt halt. Booker cursed as the sudden unexpected stop nearly caused him to collide with Hanson's back.

"What did ya do that for?" Booker asked angrily, taking a few steps back to greaten the distance between the two of them.

"Because I don't know which way to go, genius," Tom hissed, turning his head and glancing angrily at Booker.

"What do you mean-" Booker started to ask as he glanced around. "Oh," he said as he realized that Tom could have gone in one of three directions; he could have continued straight, turned left, or gone back the way they had come from. And the latter was definitely not the right option.

"Yeah oh," Tom snapped angrily, crossing his arms over his chest and shivering as the wind picked up speed and lashed out at his bare arms. It was freezing out here. "Now which way?" he asked, his tone filled with hate. "I wanna go home."

"Straight," Booker responded casually, then he continued, his tone laced with anger, "Damn it, you don't gotta be such a bitch."

"I'm the bitch?" Tom asked incredulously. "Okay, yeah, I'm actin' like one, but I have a damn good reason to be."

"I don't care!" Booker yelled. "You never tried to fuckin' stop me Hanson; you never said no!"

"I was drunk!" Tom yelled back, turning around so he was now facing the other officer. "You don't assume that a person who is drunk wants you to fuck them because they don't fight you off," Tom stopped as his voice hitched in tone and his angered yelling became a quiet broken sob. "Damn it Booker, people who are drunk, they don't, they don't think clearly. They're like a, a vegetable." Tears ran down Tom's face now and he angrily tried to wipe them away; he didn't want Booker to see him break down like this. Especially since he was breaking down because of Booker.

Dennis stepped back, surprised at Tom's outburst – Tom hadn't been like a vegetable. He had just seemed emotionless and uncaring. Almost like a vegetable, but not quite; Tom could have fought him off if he had wanted to. Besides, Tom had tried fighting him off in the washroom, and he had been drunk then.

"Yeah?" Dennis questioned, his tone cold and venomous, "You sure about that Tommy?" He moved towards Tom again, who in turn took a cautious step back. "Cause you were just as drunk at the bar Tommy; you were just as drunk when you tried pushin' me offa you in the washroom. So what, huh? When you're drunk, you can't fight people off only sometimes?"

Tom stared at Dennis, contemplating his words. "I..." he started, unsure of what to say. "I don't..."

"Exactly," Dennis hissed. "You don't know. Damn it Tommy, let's just go."

"Yeah," Tom mumbled; he wasn't sure why he was agreeing with the other man. He didn't even know if Booker was telling the truth.

_Exactly_, Tom thought. How did he know that Booker had told him the truth?

He didn't.

"How do I know you're not lying?" Tom asked, voicing his thoughts.

Tom had expected Booker to laugh, to tell him of course he wasn't lying; he had expected anything Booker would say expect for what Booker actually did say.

Dennis Booker looked straight into Tom's eyes, his expression serious with a hint of amusement, and spoke in one steady tone just two words. Two words and for an unknown reason besides the obvious, Tom Hanson was filled with fear.

"You don't," Booker replied steadily, watching and waiting for Tom's expression to change. He waited and watched as anger and pain dissolved into uneasiness and fear and he smiled. Not an amused grin, but a cold unwavering grin that chilled Tom to the core.

Because Dennis Booker was acting so unlike himself and this scared Tom; that ice-hard tone, the steady voice and that grin; all in all it scared Tom and he had no idea why.

tbc...


	5. Right Down the Street My Ass

own nothing

* * *

Dennis broke the gaze, chuckling. "Relax Tommy, you'll know soon enough right?" 

"Yeah..." Tom replied uneasily as Booker pulled a package of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans.

"Can I have one?" Tom asked suddenly.

"I thought you didn't smoke?" Booker asked suspiciously. He didn't need Tom going all **these things give you cancer** on him and destroying the smoke; he couldn't afford it.

"I don't," Tom replied icily, holding out his left hand, palm up.

"Uh, okay," Booker replied, placing a smoke in Tom's outstretched hand. "Whatever." He pocketed the remaining smokes and now retrieved a lighter from the same pocket. After lighting his own smoke, he held the lighter out to Tom, inhaling as if his cigarette contained oxygen instead of poison.

"Thanks," Tom muttered, lighting his own smoke and inhaling his own poison. He coughed harshly as the toxic junk hit his throat but still continued to breathe the substance in and out, in and out. He had never smoked before, but had always found himself compelled to whenever he was extremely stressed, extremely pissed, or extremely upset. He had never given into the urge but now as he felt those three emotions and more, he felt as if he needed to.

"You ever smoke before?" Dennis asked as he dropped his cigarette to the ground, not bothering to smother it and destroy the short remainder of its life. It would die on its own eventually, like an old man with no one left to visit him, lying alone in a hospital room, the white walls and sterile smell seeming to taunt him, day after day, night after night.

"Nope," Tom replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"So why start now?"

"Because you're a bastard," Tom hissed hatefully, flinging the half used cigarette onto the ground and stomping it out angrily.

"Sorry I asked," Booker said, his tone slightly sarcastic.

"I'm sorry you ever existed in my life," Tom snapped. "But obviously sorry can't fix everything."

"Let's just go before you kill me," Booker replied sarcastically. He started walking towards their intended destination again, intent on staying alive. Tom laughed slightly, amused, then quickly hurried after the younger officer. Maybe the thought of killing Dennis Booker had crossed his mind; maybe it hadn't. But right now he was freezing and all he wanted to do was to get his car, go home, have a hot shower, and go to sleep; of course it probably wouldn't happen in that exact order, but Tom planned to do all of it. A comment from Booker about how Tom should walk in front of Booker(preferably to watch his ass, the tone had inclined), and Tom began to wonder whether or not Booker _would_ be alive before he was even able to step foot in the parking lot of the bar.

_Then again_, Tom thought, _maybe if I kill him, I can blame it on emotional trauma brought on by him raping me._

With a small laugh and shivering once again, Tom quickened his pace so he soon fell in step just behind Booker. Now Tom was beginning to wonder if _he_ would make it through this alive, considering the direction the weather seemed to be aiming for; it was growing steadily colder with the wind whipping against him more and more often, and the clouds indicated rain as they turned slowly turned a darker shade of gray. And Tom knew that if he didn't end up dead, he would probably end up sick instead. And getting sick wasn't exactly a part of his To-Do List for that day, or really any day after that as far as he was concerned. He hated getting sick and he damned Booker for not giving him warmer clothes.

"About thirty more minutes," Dennis spoke up and Tom groaned. _Right down the street my ass_.

tbc...


	6. The Parking Lot Incident

Tom sighed in relief when he saw the parking lot looming ahead, and started walking faster, intent on getting home as fast he could. 

"Hanson!" came Booker's annoyed voice but Tom chose to ignore it, only wanting to get into the warmth of his car and to drive home. Twenty minutes ago it had started raining and he was now soaked and frozen. And he knew for a fact that he was going to end up sick now, thanks to Booker being an idiot and not giving him anything warmer to wear.

"Damn it Hanson!" Booker yelled, starting to run to catch up with the other man. He knew the bar and Tom didn't; what Booker knew was that there were some real aggressive jerks there that would probably take a liking for the 'pretty boy' and take the first chance they got. And that was what Tom didn't know.

"Tom!" Booker yelled again but the older man had already made it across the street and Booker still had a few feet to go before he even made it to the curb.

Tom hurried towards the parking lot, looking around anxiously for his car. It was parked off to to the side of the bar and Tom could see three guys hovering around it, talking excitedly. Except they were _too_ close; that was Tom's car and they were invading its personal space. Tom would have yelled at them to get away, but they were definitely bigger than him and would probably punch him out if he did. Instead he walked towards them casually, slowing his pace, glancing behind him to see where Booker was. The latter was stuck on the other side of the road, waiting for an opening in the bustle of traffic.

Except Tom didn't care; Booker could get hit by a car for all he cared. He made it to his car, the three guys not noticing his presence.

"Uh hey," Tom spoke up, trying to get their attention.

"What are you gawkin' at?" one of the men asked angrily, staring down Tom.

"It's my car, so could you maybe stop 'gawking' at it so I could go home?" Tom replied, annoyed.

"You gotta mouth on you, dontcha?" one of the other men asked.

"Look, I'm cold, and I'm tired; I just wanna go home."

"Oh, well in that case," the first man who had spoken said. "Go right ahead, your majesty," he finished sarcastically.

Tom glared at him angrily, heading for the driver's side. He reached out to unlock the door when he was grabbed from behind.

"Hey!" he yelled, damning himself now for not waiting for Booker. "Get off!" he yelled angrily, fearfully.

"Shut up," a voice hissed, an arm tightening around Tom's waist. "Just shut up and this will go so much easier."

_No_, Tom thought. _No no no. Oh god no - where the Hell is Booker?_

And as if his thoughts had been answered, the man was torn off of him with extreme force and Tom fell to the ground, his knees dampening quickly as he landed in a puddle. Except he didn't care because that man had almost... Tom couldn't think it, felt the urge to throw up whenever the thought entered his mind. He heard movement behind him and cringed; they were back, they were going to hurt him. Memories flooded through his head and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The visions were blurred and there were so many and it hurt so much.

"Tommy, c'mon, ya gotta get up."

"No," Tom whispered fearfully, not recognizing the voice. "No, go away," he whispered, trying to pull away from the hand that was now on his shoulder.

"Damn it Tommy, get up," the voice ordered with more force in it. The grip on his shoulder became tighter and then there was an arm around his waist and he was being pulled to his feet, struggling desperately to break free.

"Get offa me!"

"It's just me, man," the voice said again and Tom was confused.

"Me who? I-I don't know who you are," he whispered fearfully, his eyes still shut tightly, trying to block out everything around him.

"Booker," the voice responded with annoyance in the tone. "Look, just open your eyes, okay?"

Tom felt himself being turned and now the grip of those hands were on his wrists; a light touch that held him steady and upright. He cautiously opened his eyes, blinking away the rain that poured off of his forehead and down his face.

"Booker," he spoke up slowly, as if speaking the term for the first time. "Yeah, Booker. I-I know you."

"Course you know me you idiot," Booker replied, laughing. "You gonna make it home alright? 'Cause it's gonna be hard for me to ride my bike in this weather..." Booker trailed off, a small smile forming at his he looked at the ground.

Tom knew this was Dennis' lame attempt at offering him help, but, although he needed it, did he really want it? All he had wanted was to get away from Booker except now he knew he probably could spare a few more minutes with man. Because he probably wouldn't be able to focus o driving; he could barely keep his eyes open and he was so cold. He just wanted to go home, wrap himself in his blankets, and go to sleep. Screw the shower or anything else he had planned, he just wanted to sleep.

"Yeah, okay." Tom mumbled. "Uh, you are offering to drive, right?" Tom asked, a small smile forming.

"Yeah, guess I am. If anything, I'm just getting outta havin' to call and wait for a cab. I have no money anyways, so..."

"Okay, fine," Tom agreed. "But _you _are driving 'cause I don't think I'll make it if I had to."

"Yeah," Booker agreed, climbing into the driver's seat. Tom climbed into the back, neither thinking about how Booker would get home once they were at Tom's.

tbc...


	7. A Thought on Memories

"Uh Booker?" Hanson asked nervously as they drove down the road, rain pelting against the windshield. Booker was driving, as he had offered, and Tom had been sitting silently in the back, staring vacantly out the rain-splashed window. While doing so, he had started thinking, and had come to a conclusion about the situation he and Booker were currently in – Once Booker had driven them to Hanson's apartment, he would have no way of getting to his own apartment. 

"Yeah?" Booker asked casually, one hand on the steering wall, the other resting against his leg, his fingers tapping out an unfamiliar beat. He glanced in the rear view mirror for a second, then returned his gaze to the windshield. He was greeted by a vacant street darkened by the storm clouds, the only light guiding him being the Mustang's headlights; these shone dimly, probably running low on battery power, and only enabled him to see a few feet of the blackened, slick tarmac ahead.

Tom remained silent for a moment, debating how to word his next attempt at talking. "I uh, well, this is my car," he started lamely, stumbling over every word and talking low enough that Booker found what he had said inaudible.

"Huh?" came the questioning response and Booker once again glanced in the mirror, noticing how Tom was shivering slightly, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. But Booker didn't have time to care; he was going to bring Tom home, leave him there, and go. And forget about everything that had happened. Unless Tom decided to bring it up again when he remembered. Until then, though, Booker didn't care.

"This is my car," Tom rephrased more coherently, "And we're going to my place; how are you going to get home after?"

"Oh," Booker replied, just now realizing what he was doing and where he was. "I don't know, walk I guess."

Tom mumbled something and then looked back out the window; it was pouring, Booker couldn't walk home in this weather.

_He raped you._

Then again, why should Tom care? It was Dennis Booker; if he thought he was capable of walking home, then so be it. Still, it was cold and late, and Tom knew Booker didn't live close to him. It would take him awhile to get there and why did he care anyways? Dennis had said he could walk home, so he was going to walk.

"You okay?" came Dennis' concerned voice and Tom sighed; why the Hell did Dennis care whether or not he was okay?

"Just peachy," he mumbled, his voice laced with sarcasm and anger. "Just fuckin' peachy."

"Okay, right, forgot that I can't ask you any questions," Booker bit back, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

"Yeah? Too bad," Tom replied hatefully.

"Whatever," Booker mumbled, looking back out the windshield. A furry blob darted across the Mustang's path and he quickly pressed his foot into the brake, bringing the car to a sudden halt. Tom lurched forward, his head just inches away from hitting the seat in front of him. Thank God for seat belts.

_No - thank me I wasn't stupid and remembered to put it on_, he added as an afterthought, because God really hadn't had anything to do with it.

"Shit," Booker muttered, "You okay Tommy?"

"I'm fine," Tom spat angrily, "And stop calling me that. Fuck, what the Hell did you do that for?"

"Fucking dog came outta nowhere man, just darted in front of my path. "Shit," Booker muttered again, starting to laugh. "Scared the shit outta me."

As much as Tom didn't want to be amused he found himself laughing; he didn't want to because it wasn't really that funny – Booker had just nearly crashed his car; he had nearly crashed _his baby._

"Be lucky you didn't crash, Booker," Tom said, his tone as serious as it could get, "Cause if the crash hadn't of killed you and me, I woulda killed you personally. And you better not have scratched her, either. 'Cause I swear you'll be dead."

"Yeah, good luck with that,"Booker replied sarcastically, laughing at Tom's threat. He wasn't worried; if he had damaged the car, he would just pay for it. And if Tom went after him, he could easily take him down first.

"Just go unless there are more dogs, okay?" Tom replied, suddenly feeling very tired. Memories were trying to push their way to the surface of his mind, but he still had his headache; the pain of that and a sudden bout of dizziness overcame them and they suddenly dispersed, once again hiding away in the darkest depths of his mind; hiding away were all the memories he didn't want remembered were stored. Tom barely heard Booker mutter okay, barely heard the light hum as the car was set into motion again; all he heard was the patter of raindrops against the window as his eyelids fell, becoming to heavy to keep open. Seconds later he was asleep, his light breathing and subtle snores becoming as rhythmic as the patter on the window or the light hum of the engine as Dennis continued to drive towards their destination.

What the sleeping man didn't know was that in a matter of hours those memories would resurface, pushing away anything else that clouded his mind. Creating a pain worse than any headache, and a bout of dizziness far worse than anyone had ever experienced. And these memories would never truly fade back into the dark depths of his mind; here, in the most used parts of his mind they would reside, refusing to leave and haunting him everyday.

TBC...


	8. Remembering

A shrill shriek of fear and panic suddenly pierced the silence of the small room, like a sudden bolt of lightening striking down just inches from you. And Booker heard it, had been sitting in the silence when the noise invaded his thoughts. He jumped, falling off of the couch and onto the carpeted floor below. He sat there a moment, dazed and confused, and laughed at the reference his mind made with Led Zeppelin. Another second and the wave of dizziness that had washed over him slowly started to disappear, leaving a feeling of unease in his stomach. With a groan of pain and a mumbled fuck, Booker stood shakily, unsure of what the hell that noise had been. It had come only once, and now it was silent once again. Eerily silent. Of course, this wasn't his house: It was Tom's. 

Tom. Realization hit Booker like a ton of bricks, thoughts quickly forming and swirling throughout his mind. It should have been obvious, but the suddenness of the noise had startled him into not thinking too clearly. At least that was his excuse. But the noise, the shriek, had been human. It had been a human crying out in fear and panic and Booker knew it had to have been Tom. And that didn't seem like such a good thing to Booker. If Tom had awoken panicked, then that meant he had probably had a bad dream. And there was only one clear thing that Dennis knew would invade Tom's peacefulness while he slept.

Tom had remembered.

He had been sleeping, and once his mind had shut down and succumbed to a sleepy haze, that's when the memories resurfaced. Because when he dreamed, nothing was real. There was no pain to push away more pain, or clear thoughts telling his mind to shut the 'dirty secrets' away. When he slept, the monsters escaped, climbing out of the closets that they had been locked into. And that's when the memories resurfaced. And this time they were vivid and clear. He saw everything. He remembered everything. And then he knew everything that had happened the night before.

_He was walking, or at least he was attempting to. A better term for it could be a drunken stupor; he staggered left to right, to left, to left, zigzagging slowly through the small bar, trying to make it to the washroom. Except he couldn't exactly walk in a straight line and it took him five minutes to get there. And then there was the fact that he kept bumping into the tables and chairs situated haphazardly in no particular order. Then there was the chair, just lying out of sight, in the middle of the floor. Maybe, maybe if he hadn't drunk six beers, then maybe he would have seen it. He didn't. His foot __caught on one of the wooden legs and he fell forward, not quite realizing what was happening. Now he lay there, legs tangled over the chair, laughing hysterically. Luckily the bar was fairly empty, the majority of its patrons sitting near the back, drunk out of their minds wasting away their paychecks on more booze and the strippers. They didn't know it now, but they would later when they stumbled into their bedrooms drunk to find their wives sitting up in bed waiting for them. But Tom wasn't one of those men; he just wanted to go to the washroom. As Tom stood, the memory faded away, dissolving into a completely different scene. _

_Tom stood at the sink, rinsing away the soap suds, watching the foam dissolve under the stream of hot water spraying down onto his hands. It was amusing to him, his mind a haze of drunkenness and unknown thoughts mingled together. So he stayed like that, watching until the soap had vanished and his hands were wrinkled. Sighing absentmindedly, having forgotten why he was staring down at his hands with such awe, he stepped back, turning the water off as he did so. The paper towel dispenser was empty so he just quickly wiped his hands off on the front of his shirt. If he had been sober, he never would have done that, instead opting to wave his hands rapidly in the air. Except he wasn't sober. Maybe if was, then what happened next might never of happened._

_Except it did. Because he wasn't sober and he definitely wasn't thinking clearly._

_Tom turned around slowly, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He was definitely going to be sick. He knew there were stalls near the doors and made one of those his next destination. But instead of seeing his intended destination when he turned fully around he saw Booker. _

_"You okay?" Booker asked, concern in his voice. And Tom found this funny. It wasn't funny because he was drunk. It was funny because he never knew Dennis to show concern for anyone, even if he had only just met him. Because Dennis Booker had not portrayed himself as that kind of person. But Tom was drunk, so he let the strange show of emotion pass through him, muttering, "No, think I'm gon' be sick," slurring his speech._

_"Drank too much," Booker commented, looking at Tom with something Tom would have found suspicious if he had been sober._

_It seemed everything would have turned out better if he had been sober. Yeah, **if**. Too bad he wasn't._

_The memory changed again, swirling away in a hazy fog and then Tom found himself pinned against a wall, yelling violently and slurring together threats and curse words like a maniac. _

_"Geroffa me!" Tom yelled, the words he had thought out clearly in his mind blending together as he yelled them quickly without actually meaning to say anything._

_"What?" Booker asked, a malicious smile playing on his lips. "Can't understand you, Tommy-boy."_

_"I said get off!" Tom yelled more coherently, because this time he had forced himself to think clearly as he repeated the phrase._

_"Not too sure I can do that," Booker replied casually, the smile wavering but keeping in place._

_Dennis had Tom up against the wall, had caught him off guard and pinned him there, holding both of the smaller man's hands above him in a firm grip. He pushed heavily against Tom, like wax melting against the side of a candle, stuck there firmly without plans on leaving anytime soon._

_"G-et off," Tom slurred, no anger left in his voice, just fear and panic as Dennis' unwarranted attack became too intimate for him._

_"What's the matter, Tommy? Scared?" Booker spoke gently into Tom's ear, sending jolts of electric fear throughout Tom's nerve system. Then he pulled back, leaving a small gap between his and Tom's chest, studying Tom's face for any trace of fear._

_"N-no," Tom whispered, his voice betraying him. And Dennis found fear; he found fear in Tom's eyes, dancing wildly like the light of fireflies caught in a jar. _

_"I don't think you're telling the truth," Booker replied, once again leaning heavily against Tom so he could whisper his words into the older man's ear, relishing in the shivers that attacked Tom's body. This time he didn't pull away._

_As Booker turned his head and latched his lips onto Tom's, the scene faded away, leaving Tom alone and cold, very confused as to where he was. He could hear movement beside him but couldn't place the source of it. He tried to sit up but a sharp pain in his head prevented that. And his eyes were closed. Maybe he had been asleep? He turned his brain into gear, focusing his thoughts on opening his eyes. Sitting up could wait. Because sitting up caused pain._

_"About time you woke up," a harsh voice cut through Tom's thoughts suddenly and he quickly snapped his eyes open, turning his gaze towards the voice._

_"W-where am I?" Tom asked shakily, looking around the room he was currently in. He recognized it as Dennis' living room, having been in it very recently. Why was he in Booker's living room?_

_"You passed out, so I got a cab to bring us back here," Booker replied casually, watching Tom carefully, as if excepting the older officer to make some sort of movement. _

_"I-I did?" Tom asked, trying to find somewhere in his mind memories of doing the afore mentioned action. He came up blank._

_"Why's it so cold?" Tom asked suddenly, looking down at himself. His shirt was gone, and so where his jeans. All he wore now were his boxers. **Oh fuck n**o he thought, panicking, fear-filled ideas of what had happened invading his mind._

_"Take a lucky guess," Booker replied harshly, his eyes turning an icy black as he stared down at Tom lustfully, his eyes roaming over the naked chest._

_"What'd you do?" Tom asked, Booker's gaze making him nauseous. Although he was already pretty certain of what had happened. He just didn't want to believe it._

_"Relax Tommy, you wanted it," Booker replied. "You passed out afterwards."_

_"I-I don't believe you," Tom replied, trying to sit up. All he succeeded in was falling off of the couch, landing on the floor with his legs sprawled out underneath him._

_"Well you better," Booker replied harshly, "'Cause it's the truth." _

_Tom tried to stand but tripped, falling back onto the couch. Booker still looked down at him and tears filled Tom's eyes. He couldn't have wanted it; there was no way he had. _

And then he awoke, a panicked scream escaping him, echoing around him in the confines of his bedroom. He hadn't remembered everything, but he had remembered enough to be afraid of Dennis Booker.

TBC...


	9. Get Out

"Tommy?" Dennis asked cautiously as he slowly pushed open the door. He already knew that Tom was in here, and that that was where the scream had come from. However, he had a pretty good idea as to why the scream had pierced the air and wanted to be as cautious as he could entering the bedroom; if Tom flipped out on him, he was going to prepared. 

There was no answer and Dennis pushed the door fully open, letting it rest gently against the wall. He continued inwards, squinting in the sudden darkness. He didn't want to turn on any lights unless Tom told him to, just in case the sudden piercing blaze startled the other man. Except it was too dark and Dennis had a hard time seeing where he was going. The curtains were pulled shut, blocking out the little nighttime light that could be shining in through the window. For now he would just have to make his way towards the bed blindly.

"Tom?" Booker called out again, this time his tone was hardened as he tried to gain the older man's attention. "Damn it Hanson, I know you're in here."

A slight muffled sigh alerted Booker and he turned to his right, trying to make out Tom in the dark. He couldn't make out _anything_ and groaned in frustration. Fumbling around in a bedroom you have never been in was difficult. Especially when it's like the darkening abyss inside a cave and you couldn't see anything, not even your hand in front of your face. And Dennis was really tempted to just flood the room with the light, no matter how much it could freak out or piss off the other occupant of the room.

"Tom, I know you're in here man, so just answer me," Dennis spoke again, anger now laced into his tone. Tom was obviously ignoring him, like a stubborn child, and Dennis was starting to get annoyed at that. Tom was a man, at twenty-three years old; there was no reason for him to be an irritative little bitch.

"Oh, fuck this," Dennis muttered when his foot caught on something hard and he nearly fell to the floor. He turned back in the direction he thought he had first come from, and kept walking until he hit something solid – a wall. "Alright," he muttered. "Lights are going on little buddy," he added, feeling along the wall for the distinctive shape. It took him a minute but once his fingers brushed over it, he flicked the switch upwards, flooding the room in light.

"Ah, fuck," came Tom's disgruntled voice as the light flashed into his eyes suddenly, momentarily blinding him. Dennis turned towards this, and found the other man sitting on his bed, back pressed against the wall, and his blanket drawn tightly around himself.

"Fuck Tommy, you really are a bitch right now."

"Yeah, guess that has somethin' to do with you raping me," Tom snapped, glaring angrily at the younger man as his vision cleared.

"Oh boo fucking hoo," Dennis muttered. So he had raped him; Tom had been drunk and Dennis had thought the other man wanted to do it. Even though he hadn't.

"Fuck you too," Tom muttered angrily. He didn't want Dennis here, in his house, or anywhere near him. He wanted him to leave and never speak to him again.

"Damn it Tommy," Booker hissed harshly, making his way towards the bed. Tom trembled slightly, but was able to keep his voice steady as he muttered a quick, "Get the Hell outta my house. Now."

"Damn it Hanson, I'm not gonna touch you. Okay? I just wanna talk."

"Well maybe," Tom started, loosening his grip on the blanket, "I don't want to. I just want you to get the Hell outta my house. Maybe we can talk later, maybe not. But I want you gone. Now."

"Oh fuck this," Booker muttered. "Fine, you want me gone, I'm gone. See ya tomorrow."

"I hope not," Hanson muttered, annoyed. He never wanted to see Dennis Booker again in his life. _Except there was also the small fact of-_

"Considering we work together now, I think you will," Dennis replied as he headed towards the door.

_-work._

Tom was screwed.

"See ya tomorrow, _Tommy_." Booker turned and leered at the older man, before returning his gaze towards the door and heading out. If Tom wanted him gone, then he would just have to leave. And besides, he _would_ be seeing him at work the next day.

Tom waited until he heard his front door closing before letting out a shaky sigh. He really hated Dennis Booker, and he was actually scared of him. And the huge problem right smack dab in the middle of the whole mess was that, yes, Tom would be seeing Dennis at work the following day. And probably many days afterwards. Tom had no idea what to do, because he didn't exactly want to admit to being raped. Especially since he had been drunk. Everybody would probably think he had asked for it once they found out everything. So for now Tom would just keep quiet and try and avoid Booker as much as he could. Even if he had to work with him.

TBC...


	10. Mornings Are Never Easy

Okay, extremely sorry for the late update... check my profile for info on my ability to update... uhm, had a bit of writer's block on this one, though, but now here is more XD So... only one chapter, but I wanted to post _something..._ and thanks to everyone who reviewed, not sure who or what or if there were any, but if you reviewed(and it was not all I hate your story or something like it lol) thanks XD

**alright, this is edited now... thanks to andaere(sp?) for pointing it out... any other mistakes please tell me XD**

Tom awoke suddenly, very confused - he had just fallen asleep: why would he be getting up so quickly? His alarm wasn't going off, so he knew that that wasn't the reason why. He still turned his gaze towards the object, though, wanting to know the time. 7.45 glared back at him in red numbering and he yelled, "shit," very quickly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had to be at work fifteen minutes ago... why hadn't the damn alarm gone off? Not in the mood for finding out why, Tom hurried in his efforts to get ready. Get dressed, brush teeth... he had showered the previous night, after Booker had left, so he didn't have to worry about that. He still felt like he was forgetting something, though. Deciding that it couldn't be that important, Tom grabbed for the fist pair of jeans he saw, stumbling backwards as he pulled them off of the floor. He landed on his bed with a small thump, cursing as he went. He didn't have time to fall onto things, and decided that the faster he went, the slower it would take him to get ready. He always screwed up whenever he rushed around. Besides, he didn't have a case, so being late wouldn't be the worst thing.

With the decision to slow down set firmly in his mind, Tom sat up (slowly), stretching as he did so. A small yawn passed through closed lips and he allowed it to escape, again, slowly, not sure why he would be so tired after sleeping for... actually, he was unsure of how long he had slept, but he was still yawning and he was never _that_ tired after waking up. Knowing that this information wasn't vital to his getting dressed, Tom pushed the thoughts away as the yawn came to a stop and he pushed his right leg through the jean's left. Maybe he shouldn't think so hard in the morning anymore and just be as slow as possible. Or maybe this was all just happening because he hadn't gotten his coffee yet.

"You're late, Tommy-boy," came out of Booker's mouth in a song-like manner, greeting Tom as he rushed into the chapel's main area, panting and soaked. It had begun to rain not even five seconds after he had left his apartment, and then he had had to stand in the rain for another five minutes while some idiot pulled his car away from Tom's. The young officer had run to his vehicle once the rain had started, not wanting to be in said rain, only to find that the afore-mentioned idiot had parked directly behind him, creating a blockade that would prevent any means of Tom getting his beloved Mustang out of the parking spot. Luckily, though, the driver had only parked for a moment to wait for a friend, which, to Tom, was odd because there were spaces closer to the building. He hadn't questioned the man about this, though, and soon Tom was in the warmth and dryness of his vehicle in no more than five minutes. He was glad something had finally worked out to his advantage that morning.

"And your point is?" Tom muttered in response, glaring at the other officer.

"No point. Although Fuller may have one. We were supposed to head out on a case forty minutes ago, pal, and you weren't there."

"What case?" Tom replied quickly, nervousness edging into his voice. Had there been no case, Fuller probably would have let him being late slide; in the case of there being a case, Tom would be in trouble. Big trouble, considering he was forty minutes late.

"Surprising, though," Booker's voice came again, and Tom looked towards him curiously. "What is?" he asked. "Everybody's late some-"

"Yeah," Booker cut in quickly with a smirk. "But here I was thinking you'd be up all night havin' more nightmares, thus making you an early bird and not forty minutes late. Guess I was wrong, though."

Tom stared directly at Booker as the words sunk in, fear beginning to tighten inside of him like a screw, twisting and rising to the surface rapidly. At least now he had remembered what he had forgotten. He only wished he had remembered it sooner, before setting foot inside the chapel and getting into a conversation with Dennis.

"You forgot?" Booker asked when To gave no response, laughing. "Jeez, Tommy, you made such a big deal about it yesterday, now you show up all, I don't know... but you forgot?"

"Just shut up, alright?" Tom hissed angrily. "I don't, I don't wanna talk about it here."

"I get it," Booker replied. "I mean, I don't either, considering what it is we'd be discussing."

"Yeah, exactly," Tom agreed. "So just drop it."

"I will. But you gotta go talk to Fuller, then we leave. With this case, our cover will be better shown if we get to school late."

"I'm not-" Tom started, knowing he would never make it through the day alongside Booker. Except Fuller decided to check in to see if his 'missing officer' had arrived, and had noticed that he had halfway through Tom's statement: "Hanson, get in here now!" Adam called across the room harshly, although not in anger; it was more annoyance than anything, and Tom realized he'd better do as told before the emotions did rise into anger.

"Just talk to Fuller, then meet me outside," Booker told Tom casually as if the previous conversation had not happened. "Tell him I'll fill you in, okay? We gotta at least get there before second period starts."

"Yeah, whatever," Tom muttered, waving his hand in the air. He turned quickly, than hurriedly made his way to Fuller's office. He didn't want to be on a case with Booker but he knew that he would never get out of it without explaining why he wanted to do so. That was one thing he never wanted to tell anyone, so he decided that talking to Fuller and then leaving was his best option. It wasn't like Booker would be able to try anything at the school; if he did, at least there was a good chance that somebody would see it and stop him. Tom just hoped that his day wouldn't end the same way as yesterday's had.

Tom headed out of the chapel, slightly worried. He had remembered almost everything that Booker had done, than forgotten it(again), and then remembered it once more. He wished that none of it had happened, though, because now he was too confused and couldn't think straight. He didn't want to be with Dennis today because he was scared of him. He didn't have a solid reason for being scared, though, and that was the main reason behind his confusion: what he had remembered had nothing to do with him being raped; he had remembered Booker admitting to sleeping with him, but not rape. He had confirmed it afterwards, but Tom didn't have any solid proof. All he had were mixed memories thrown together uselessly like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.

"Yo Tommy, snap outta it," broke through Tom's thoughts and he jumped, then laughed. Maybe he was just going crazy and had imagined everything. Maybe everything that had been happening since he woke up were all a part of his imagination and he was actually still asleep, dreaming up these crazy things like a mad scientist's latest concoction.

"Where are we going?" Tom asked, pushing the thoughts of his mental state towards the back of his mind. Right now he _was_ awake and had to work; he would just have to deal with his health later.

"Rockwood High. Drug case."

"Yeah, course it is; it always is," Tom muttered under his breath and rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"I didn't rape you."

"I said **not here**," Tom snapped, turning quickly and facing Dennis with as much rage as a wildfire. "I don't wanna talk about that here, alright?"

"I know that, but nobody can hear us," Dennis countered, following when the older man began walking away from him. "Look, Hanson, what happened was a stupid mistake. I mean, I guess I did rape you, okay? But the truth is you wanted it, I swear. In the cab, you started actin' weird, then you asked if you could go to my place. I swear I'm not lying."

"Usually people who lie try so hard to convince people they aren't," Tom responded coldly, not believing for a second that he would ever consent to sleeping with Booker, let alone being the one to lead Dennis on.

"But I'm not lying," Dennis urged. "Damn it, you remembered all the crap about it, didn't you? I mean, that's what those repressed memories are, huh? Bad memories that come and bite you in the ass whenever the hell it pleases them. But I swear, man, that you did want it. I just kept going even when you changed your mind. And I'm sorry for that, alright?"

Tom stopped suddenly, Dennis colliding with him when the sudden halt in movement came unexpectedly. The younger officer took a step back and stared at the other's back, waiting for whatever was going to come. Nothing did, and Dennis took a cautious step forward before placing a hand on Tom's shoulder lightly and asking, "You okay, Tommy?"

"Just fine," Tom replied softly, doing nothing to move away from the unwarranted touch. Dennis figured that Tom had no idea his hand was even there, yet he removed it anyways, since it had only happened out of concern, and besides, if Tom did notice, he might freak out, and Dennis had had enough of dealing with Tom in that kind of situation.

"Guess we should go," Tom finally said, turning his head slightly to look at Dennis.

"Tom, c'mon, you can't just brush me off like that," Dennis argued in response. "I mean, you gotta have something you wanna say."

"I do, but I feel stupid just thinking it," Tom replied, turning his entire body to fully face Dennis.

"Maybe it ain't so stupid," Booker replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Just shoot, and if it is stupid, just forget you ever said it.

"Yeah, right," Hanson replied slowly before letting out a shaky breath. "I don't know, Booker," he said with a shaky laugh. "I guess I believe you. I actually believe you."

"You do?" Dennis asked, surprised. What he had told Tom had been the truth; he just hadn't expected the other man to believe it.

"Yeah. It's just, I don't know. I barely know you, but so far you've put yourself off to be a jerk. But what you just said, you sounded so damn sincere..." Tom trailed off and once more began rubbing the back his neck, staring at Dennis and waiting for whatever response was coming.

"I'm not a jerk," Dennis replied with a small smirk. "I'm just a bit, I don't know, anti-social or whatever. Acting like a jerk makes people leave me alone. But if I care about someone, there's no way I'll be a jerk towards them."

Booker began laughing seconds after he had spoken and Tom smiled slightly, letting his arm fall away from his neck and to his side. "What?" he asked, suspicious – it wasn't like Booker had said something funny.

"You," Dennis replied, easily calming his laughter. "It's just the way you looked at me when I said that... trust me, Tommy, I don't like you enough that I'll stop actin' like a jerk. I've _never _liked anybody that much."

"Oh," Tom replied, laughing slightly. "Right, good, whatever. No need to change, I guess, or else you might scare some people."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Booker asked, starting to walk towards Tom's car once again. He had previously been waiting outside the chapel, and once Tom had emerged at the top of the steps, had begun moving towards the Mustang. He had only stopped when Tom had, but now, having realized they were going to miss the start of second period if they didn't move, had once again headed in that direction. Tom followed without question, smiling but not answering Dennis' question.

"Damn it Tommy, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Booker called out when Tom quickened his pace, moving further away from him. "C'mon man, you're stuck with me all day; you gotta tell me sooner or later."

Tom stopped at the driver's side of his Mustang and cast a small smile in Dennis' direction. "It means that you bein' nice is kinda creepy," he replied, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out his keys. "So shut up about it and get in the damn car."

Tom unlocked his own door and climbed into the vehicle, relaxing into the familiar comfort of the leather seat and breathing out slowly. Not even ten minutes ago he had been dead set on not going on this case with Booker, but now he was actually looking forward to it. What Dennis had said had tugged at something inside of him, and even though he didn't know what it was, he was determined to figure it out. Because Dennis Booker acting nice may have seemed off, but to Tom it _was _a change; a change that had allowed him to see one small part of the man that he usually hid underneath his tough-guy, I'll be a jerk whenever it pleases me exterior. And Tom found himself liking this side of Booker, even if he had only seen it once.

Tom suddenly jumped at a slight tapping, and laughed when he realized it was just Dennis knocking on the window, waiting for the door to be unlocked. And as he unlocked the door and watched as Dennis slid into the vehicle quickly and with ease, Tom Hanson realized what that feeling was: he was pretty sure he was falling for Dennis Booker, tough-guy, nice-guy and everything in between.


	11. Confusion

_Alright sorry for the lateness... writer's block and the flu... but please check my profile, read the paragraph stuff above the line, it's kinda important but too much to post here... Hopefully I still have some readers, and enjoy... also, next chapter will probably be the last..._

"Damn it," Tom hissed as he glanced towards the clock longingly, wishing for the day to be over. But instead of looking up and seeing 2.30, he saw 1.30. One hour left yet it felt like he had already been in the class for five. Then again, he never did like History.

"What?" Booker questioned from beside him, looking towards Tom as he spoke. He himself had hated almost every class, history included, but, unlike Tom, had mastered the sitting and doing nothing while class dragged on. Because of this, he rarely ever felt as if a class were going too slow. Sure, the entire day felt like it could drag on forever, but never the class, and each seemed to last the amount of time it should, maybe a few minutes longer, maybe a few less. Tom though, was fidgeting in his seat and glancing up at the clock every minute. Doing that would definitely make the time seem slower and Dennis laughed, before whispering, "Hey Tommy, what's up?" Dennis spoke louder, hoping this time he would receive a response.

"Slow class," Tom whispered in response and groaned when Dennis laughed again. "It's not funny, it's boring," Tom spoke quietly and annoyed. "I mean, why should we care about what happened a hundred years ago?"

"Well," Booker started, a smile forming, "You gotta know about the past before you can worry about the future. Or some crap like that."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Tom replied, once again looking towards the clock. Only three minutes had passed. He groaned once again and ignored Dennis' suggestion to play tic-tac-toe. He may have been bored, but there was no way he would start playing tic-tac-toe.

"Mr. Henderson," a voice cut through Tom's thoughts twenty minutes later and he glared angrily at the teacher, knowing that he was going to be asked a question the teacher would expect him to know the answer to. "Yeah?" he called out, snapping his gum loudly and smirking. It was time to play McQuaid, with or without Doug – if he was lucky, he could get himself kicked out of class and be able to leave.

"Who was the first president of the United States?" the teacher asked, ignoring the rudeness intended to gain a n early trip home – he had been teaching twenty years and knew almost every trick a student could throw at him to get out of class -- and stared directly at his pupil with no hint of annoyance or anger. Tom cursed inwardly, then shrugged his shoulders. "How the hell should I know? This _is_ my first day in your class."

Some students began laughing at Tom's statement but immediately quieted down when their teacher's expression finally changed to display the feelings of annoyance and anger Tom had wanted – and Tom knew he was getting close to being kicked out and smirked again. "Maybe you should ask somebody who actually cares. My brother here is a huge history buff, ya know."

"I didn't your ask your brother, Tom," the teacher replied calmly, enunciating Tom's name slowly. "I asked you. Now answer it."

"I told you-"

"That this is your first time in my class, Mr. Henderson," the teacher cut in roughly, anger overcoming his emotions – no student had ever tried this hard. "The problem with that is that you are in grade eleven and have been taking history since grade seven, possibly earlier." The teacher stopped speaking as he allowed his words to sink into Tom's mind before continuing slowly, as if speaking to a four-year old just learning to speak. "Only an idiot would be unable to tell me who the first president was."

"Maybe I don't know," Tom replied coldly. "Because I never paid attention in any 'previous history courses' either." Tom stood quickly, his chair pushing out behind him at his speed of movement and smacking lightly against the wall, and then he glared angrily at the teacher. "So go ask somebody else who can answer the damn question." he finished roughly, raising his voice yet not yelling – just enough to gain the teacher's attention that he was pissed off and didn't care.

"Then you might as well, leave, Tom, since you are so intent on doing nothing in here, anyways. Goodbye."

Tom turned towards Dennis and smiled, satisfied that he had gotten what he had wanted. "Guess I'll see you later, then," he said, grinning and then laughing lightly. "And goodbye, _Mister_ Jones."

Dennis laughed after Tom had spoken and stood as well although with less aggression than Tom had, and with no abusive movements made towards his chair. Tom stared at him, confused, then smirked when he realized Dennis' intentions. "Yeah, like I'm stayin' if you aren't," Booker replied, following as Tom headed towards the door. The teacher made no movement to stop him, probably believing he would give out the same 'treatment' as his brother had.

"Nice job back there," Booker said as he and Tom headed up the steps towards the chapel, Tom following behind Dennis. "I mean, I never knew you had _that _in you, Tommy."

"Maybe certain issues in my life made me more pissed and aggressive than normal," Tom replied lightly, looking at Dennis when he stopped, a serious expression on his face.

"Hey, wait, what?" Booker asked. "We talked about that, and you-"

"I was joking," Tom cut in, laughing. "You really need to chill out, Booker. I said I believed you, and I do, okay?"

Booker nodded, relief spreading across his features. "Maybe you need to go back to being the Tommy I first met, huh? You never were a bitch then."

"Shut up," Tom hissed, pushing past Dennis roughly and hurrying up the stairs.

"Hey, wait!" Dennis called after the other man, quickly following. "C'mon, Tommy, it was a joke!"

Tom had already disappeared inside and Dennis sighed. Tom was really starting to confuse him, and he wasn't sure what the hell was going on anymore – one minute Tom had been joking and laughing, and the next he had been mad and rushing off. Well, maybe Dennis shouldn't have called him a bitch, but still, he thought Tom would have taken it as a joke, and not like he did. Knowing he had to go fix things, Dennis sighed again, not really wanting to deal with Tom, although he knew he had to. His mind set with his decision, Dennis pulled on the door's handles and headed into the familiar building, his thoughts being drowned out by the chapel's workplace chatter. It was either talk to Tom now or later, and there was a chance Tom would be worse off later. Since now was his best option, Dennis headed towards Tom desk, where Tom had just fallen into his chair heavily and Dennis sighed once more – he did not want to deal with an angry Tom Hanson although he knew his options were limited. He continued that way, albeit cautiously, and actually grinned when he saw some sort of smile playing on Tom 's lips... Wait, did that mean Tom was happy that he was heading his way? Booker shook his head, knowing Tom just barely liked him, and pushed all thoughts of any possible friendship between them to the back of his mind – he really liked Tom Hanson but knew he had already messed up things between them, and knew that he would be lucky enough to just apologize to the other man. Nope, Tom Hanson was not an option for Dennis Booker, and the younger man concluded that that was the best that he was going to get.

Tom entered the chapel quickly, knowing that Dennis had only been joking and that he shouldn't be taking the situation so serious, but he was confused and had thought being away from the other man would be a good idea. Because he _was _falling for Booker, and was pretty damn confused as to why now, why fall for him after what he had thought had happened. Maybe because he had seen that side of Booker that was rare yet beautiful – he was like a drug and Tom found he wanted more, he _needed_ more -- he yearned for more yet at the same time wanted to hit Booker, to yell and scream, and ask why? Why the hell had he gotten Tom so messed up with one mistake? Yes, it had partly been Tom's doing, but most of it had been Booker for not stopping, for not leaving Tom alone. But Tom was finding his want for Dennis Booker becoming stronger than his hate, which was why, after falling as gracefully as an elephant into his chair, he was glad to see Dennis' destination upon entering the chapel to be his desk. Because he wasn't mad at Booker, not for calling him a bitch, at least, because yes, that had been a joke; nope, he was just confused and in need of answers that he knew he would have trouble finding.

TBC...


	12. One More Drink

"Hey," Dennis said casually, leaning against Tom's desk lightly and watching for whichever emotion took control of Tom's features.

"Hey," Tom answered back, not raising his head, giving Dennis no chance to determine his feelings.

"You're not a bitch," Booker added, "So don't hate me or anything for saying that, okay?"

Tom looked up at Dennis and began to laugh. Dennis was able to conclude nothing, though, because he was unsure of Tom's intentions by laughing – he was either laughing at Dennis for expecting an apology, or he was laughing because he knew it had been a joke.

"What?" Booker questioned curiously, left eyebrow arching as his expression grew to meet his emotions. Tom stopped laughing, although a smile still played on his lips as he watched Booker. "What?" Booker asked again, speaking louder and with more force. "Oh c'mon Tommy, say _something_."

"You called me a bitch, what am I supposed to say?"

"You actually think I was bein' serious?" Dennis scoffed. "Well, okay, you were a bitch at the school, but when I said it, I was only joking."

"Yeah, I know," Tom replied. "I just, I don't know, got mad pretty easily I guess. But yeah, okay, maybe I was a bit of a bitch.. Although that guy deserved it."

Dennis smiled, leaning down further so his elbows now rested on Tom's desk. "Yeah, he was a bit of a jerk. Reminds me of this one teacher I had-"

"Uh-uh, no way," Tom cut in quickly. "No more of your damn stories. I don't wanna hear it."

"What are you talkin' about," Dennis asked. "I haven't told you a single story."

"Well then, let's make sure it stays like that, okay?" Tom smiled again and Booker sighed. "And everybody told me Doug was the complicated one..."

"What?" Tom asked, surprised that Dennis knew something about Doug. "Who said that?"

"Judy. Told me something about the McClains or something-"

"McQuaids," Tom corrected. "It's the McQuaid brothers, not the McClains."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Booker replied, brushing off Tom's correction. "She told me how it was Doug's idea and all, and that he was always the rowdy one, ya know?"

"What'd she say I was?" Tom asked cautiously, not entirely sure he actually wanted to know.

"Just that you're a bit, uh, geeky. You know, organized, smart, all that crap."

"Of course she did." Tom groaned, planning on having a nice, long chat with Judy the next time he saw her.

"Yeah," Booker answered. "You don't seem like that to me, though. Especially the way you mouthed off to the teacher."

"I was playing a McQuaid," Tom stated, slightly proud that he could pull the cover off like he had, with Dennis believing that was how he truly acted all the time.

"Oh, I see. Next time tell me first, huh? I can get in on it earlier, and not have to work so hard to get us thrown outta class."

"Shut up," Tom hissed suddenly, observing as their captain came out of his office and walked towards them. "Fuller's coming our way, don't say anything to him, and I mean _don't_."

Dennis straightened up and turned just as Fuller reached Hanson's desk, a grim expression on his face. "I just received a phone call," he started, glancing down at Tom who stood up and moved to stand beside Dennis, a guilty look plastered on his face. "And it appears you were both kicked out of class this afternoon."

"Yeah, the teacher didn't like us that well," Tom stated, beginning to rub the back of his neck. Dennis grabbed Tom's arm, having learned the sign of nervousness quickly, and pulled it away. Tom glanced at him, smiling nervously, before turning back to Fuller. He began drumming on the desk with his fingers and Booker sighed before wrapping a hand around Tom's and holding it tight, preventing Tom from beating on it any longer. It was a desk after all, not a drum. And any longer and Fuller might think they had murdered somebody the way Tom's nerves were acting up.

"I was under the impression that you got yourselves kicked out on purpose."

"Yeah, well-" Tom started but Fuller held up his hand before continuing, "Just don't let it happen again."

"Really? That's it?" Tom asked.

"Yes, Tom. I did say to do whatever it took to make yourselves known in the school. Acting like that will have the teachers keeping eyes on you, and the students backing down. That's exactly what you need to get in with the dealers, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Booker replied, nodding in agreement. "I'll make sure Tommy here stays in line tomorrow, though."

"Well, make sure he gets into some trouble," Fuller added. "Or else nobody will think you're as tough as you're trying to show."

"Will do coach," Tom replied with a smile. "But I never thought that I'd be getting' in trouble because you told me to."

"It's part of the job, Tom, so just do it. But don't get suspended, because if you're not in that school everyday this week, you'll be on desk duty for a month."

Tom made to reply but Dennis squeezed the hand he still held onto tightly, silently warning Tom to not say anything. Fuller smiled before turning and then he was heading back to his office, leaving the two officers again once more.

"Uh, Booker," Tom spoke up, turning his head to look at the other man. "You can let go of my hand now.

Booker smiled and shook his head. "I will if you'll do one thing for me."

"What?" Tom asked, annoyed, trying to pull his hand free without having to agree to anything. Booker held onto it tightly, though, and Tom groaned.

"Go get a drink with me after work. And don't worry, I won't do anything stupid this time unless you say it's fine while you're sober."

Tom was ready to say hell no, but his mind was screaming at him to just go, to have fun, and to see if he could dwell more into that rare side of Booker nobody saw. Because if he got in deep enough, then maybe he and Booker could have something more than memories of a terrible mistake.

"Well?" Booker asked when Tom didn't reply, and Tom saw hope in the other man's eyes. "Ah, what the hell," he muttered, grinning. "I'll go, but I swear, you do anything this time, and I will hurt you. Got it?"

Booker laughed and then muttered in agreement: "Alright. But what happens if _you_ decide to do something?"

"Then you deal with it like I did," Tom replied, shrugging his shoulders. "And then we go out for another drink."

_Alright, that's the end... if you're interested in more, tell me, because I would gladly write a sequel..._


End file.
